


For One Night

by Sangfroid_Sorrow



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: ... flangst, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anorexia, Body Dysphoria, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Jay has issues too, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Not gonna lie there's fluff too, Pining, Romance, Tim wants things to be okay for once but, fluff-angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 14:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11232888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangfroid_Sorrow/pseuds/Sangfroid_Sorrow
Summary: Jay never explicitly tells Tim he has an eating disorder, but it's not something he can hide. He doesn't say 'I love you' either.Tim is concerned about both.





	For One Night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in eating disorder recovery and it's rough. I suppose I wanted to write something about that kinda thing, and Marble Hornets is so amazing so... I guess I kinda melded them. I hope it's half-decent! Thank you for checking this out :)

 

 

* * *

* * *

  ** _“Kill your health and_**

**_Kill yourself_ **

**_And kill everything you love.”_ **

_Sourgarden, ‘Burden in My Hand’_

* * *

* * *

 

Sometimes Tim wonders whether it’s his fault.

 

Jay had always been ‘on the lean side’. He was the bones to Tim’s bulk, but he seemed _healthy_. Sure, he winded easily, but it was easy to chalk that up inactivity—it wasn’t as though they could be risking visits to the gym when the Operator might be lifting in the background.

 

But, maybe it should have been instinctual to ask how Jay had been affording meals for two when he’d been unemployed—not to mention living in his _car_ — the past few years. The consistent sandwiches and cigarettes… Jay always said he’d already eaten.

 

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when the truth came out.

  

* * *

**|xoxox|**

* * *

 

It didn’t come from any sort of confession. Tim and Jay have a mutual understanding (for the most part) but their abuse of the word ‘trust’ will likely be their downfall. From the beginning their friendship skirts the lines of healthy—neither of them have any skill for distinguishing between instinct and paranoia anymore.

 

For Jay, there will always the quiet suspicion that Tim knows more than he claims. Tim is less morbid. He thinks Jay has a habit of staring too long.

 

Perhaps it was this sort of arrogance that distracted him from Jay’s problems. Some needy part of him had thought that the man’s tendency to put Tim first was, well, bordering into romantic. He imagined that Jay was the sort to do that, adopting a show-don’t-tell attitude. The idea had seemed endearing at the time. It was a warmth in his chest that didn’t burn like pills or smokes, and he grew to crave it as he did other reliefs. (He understands, now, that there are no ‘healthy addictions’.)

  

* * *

  **|xoxox|**

* * *

  

The breaking-point came when, to Tim’s confusion, Jay had proudly announced that they were going to a ‘fancy restaurant’. Neither of them had had the luxury of eating anything more impressive than the odd burger in ages and Tim couldn’t lie, the concept was more than appealing. He had only been able to laugh at first. The sound was deep and Jay looked proud.

 

Again, there was fire. It was soft and domestic. No matter where they went these days, Jay seemed to feel like home.

 

That afternoon, not having carried clothing better than some flannels and jeans since he moved out, Tim hadn’t been sure what constituted as ‘fancy’. The added pressure of the dinner sounding suspiciously like a date was an added stress, though he managed to settle for… well, his cleanest shirt and jeans. He showered, not quite washing away the smell of smoke, and grabbed a wad of bills just in case.

 

By the door, Jay stood wearing the jacket Tim bought him. It had been in a charity shop, of course. They were _supposed_ to be looking for inconspicuous (and more importantly, cheap) clothing, but Jay had started messing around with the 20% off tophats and bowties with a goofiness Tim had never seen before. At first he’d tried to tell him to just knock it off, but Jay laughed in stupid, infectious wheezes and looked so ridiculously perfect in the oversized black jacket with shoulders that stretched for miles. The scene, although surreal, was captivating. Tim could only watch, wishing the moment wouldn't end.

 

Of course, it did.

 

Jay had calmed down by the time they reached the till, and Tim still remembers the wide-eyed stare he’d received when he forked over a twenty for the jacket. The man managed to argue about the ‘waste of money’ for a solid minute before slipping back into his brilliant laughter.

 

Tim will never regret that they couldn’t afford a motel room that night. He’d suggested lying in the grass because there was something reckless and liberating pounding in his chest—an irresistible sensation of ‘it’s us against the world’, though he had never felt less lonely.

 

Jay had agreed.

 

Flash-forward a month and the guy was sinking in trousers that he didn’t remember being baggy, but his smile was wide and genuine. His camera peaked out from the satchel by his side but Tim didn’t give it any attention. His gaze was caught elsewhere. Jay hadn’t been showering (enough), shaving (enough) or eating (enough) and it showed, but hell, it wasn’t as if Tim could judge. His stare lasted a moment too long.

 

  _Holy fuck_ , was his distraction, as he offered the man a rare grin, _he’s kind of beautiful._

 

The sentiment had burned his cheeks even as they entered the car. Jay turned on the radio and tapped his foot, humming tunelessly in a way that was amazingly alive. He talked, then—never about what they were running from but about _useless_ things. Brilliant, brilliant useless things. Things they didn’t need to care about, like how they needed to ask the motel’s reception for more soap and how he didn’t mind if Tim wanted to put up a pillow-boundary on the bed that they would have to share that night. He let the man speak, interjecting every now and then, and it felt like conversation.

 

Not planning. Not discussing. Just… talking.

 

Although the journey only lasted minutes, it felt more significant than that. As Jay parked the car, still muttering about some random white marks on the bedcovers, Tim wondered whether this was _the night_. He doubted a better time would come for him to just say it. Distracted, he put his two cents in, suggesting that the stain was probably something vulgar.

 

Jay snorted, turning away as his nose wrinkled. Tim thought about kissing him.

 

They left the car.

 

The restaurant didn’t quite hit the beat of ‘fancy’ but it was _nice_. Candles burned over patchy red tablecloths, and the small dining room smelled of home-cooking and the evening fireplace. The staff greeted them enthusiastically, parting to let a bubbly waitress step forward. She introduced herself as ‘Emma, your server for tonight’ and glanced around at all the empty tables.

 

It took a moment of deliberation, but she led them to a two-seater with freshly-picked roses and a worn menu. Jay didn’t argue, slipping into his seat and looking very small against the cushion. Tim sat down opposite him, squirming a little. The table was clearly dressed for a couple.

 

Quietly, Tim had moved to pick up the menu, but Jay spoke up.

 

“I’ve heard the spaghetti Bolognese is great,” he told him. There was an uneasy grin on his face. The energy of their joyride had hit a decline.

 

Tim put down the menu. He pulled a smile, hoping Jay would return it, and the trick won out. “Okay then,” he hummed. Jay rolled his eyes. “I get the hint.”

 

When Emma came around again, she scribbled ‘1 x spag bol’ into her notepad. She and Tim looked over at Jay expectantly.

 

Jay had frozen. His hands were wrung on his lap, no longer swinging in too-big gestures about ‘ _the one time Alex was so drunk he—_ ‘, and his eyes were slow to focus. “Oh,” he said, with a breathy kind of surprise. It sounded fake. He shook his head dismissively, “I won’t have anything, thanks.”

 

Both Tim and the waitress stared. “Why not?” he asked.

 

“We can’t afford it,” Jay explained, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ way. “I’ll cope, Tim, don’t sweat it.”

 

“I brought cash, man—“

 

Jay cut in, eyes stony behind his smile. “Really, it’s fine.”

 

Tim didn’t dispute this. Instead, he hesitated, holding Jay’s gaze for a moment. It seemed wrong to push. “Okay,” he said slowly. He handed their menus to the waitress and told her, “We’ll share.”

 

Jay looked alarmed and it took a moment for Tim to realise the implications. There was something wholly intimate (if not somewhat ridiculous) about splitting his pasta with his friend, manipulated further by memories of Disney flicks— namely the obvious ‘Lady and the Tramp’. He knew what part he played, but Jay wasn’t looking so ladylike with his shaky breathing and restless movement.

 

It was a good thing they were alone in the restaurant as the other man rapped his foot insistently against the wooden floor. _Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptaptap_ — The motion was incessant, if not subconscious. Unsure of what else to do, Tim moved to softly press the pad of his foot against Jay’s, holding it there. The other man stilled. Their eyes met and Tim quietly asked about what he had been mentioning earlier, when Alex got drunk.

 

It seemed to assure Jay more than any interrogation or uninformed ‘ _it’ll be okay_ ’ ever would.

 

So they started talking again, and Tim was ready to write the rocky start of as a sort of false alarm. They could talk about it later. He didn’t want Jay to be stressed, not when he was in his too-big jacket and had been smiling so much in the car.

 

Tim knows now that he was being selfish, but was it so wrong to want a good day? A day that he would _want_ to remember in the morning. Every moment up until that point had seemed worth cherishing. It wasn’t fair, but he had desperately hoped Jay could hold it together. Just for that night.

 

It was supposed to be _the_ night.

 

When the plate arrived it was big. The spaghetti sloped in a tower of sauce and meat—it more than enough for one, and still pretty generous for two. He had appraised it with the sort of fear and awe that most would save for religion, and turned to gauge Jay’s reaction.

 

The man looked sick.

 

“Jay?”

 

“I can’t,” he muttered, voice hoarse. His eyes were too wide as he began to shrink into himself. Tim had the sudden, irrational fear that he would keep on shrinking until there was nothing left. “I’m not hungry.”

 

“What’s w—“

 

But Jay was in another world. “I can’t,” he repeated quietly, looking anywhere but at the plate. At Tim.

 

There were tremors in his shoulders and Tim realised that, even if they pretended enough to make this ‘ _his night’_ , it would never be Jay’s. He called Emma over and asked for the bill, saying a few dozen ‘sorry’s as he hastily pulled out some notes from his pocket.

 

He wasn’t sure when he had left his seat but he was suddenly behind Jay, hands gently on the man’s shoulders, quietly encouraging him to ‘come on’. His friend was slow to move. The sheer terror in his eyes was giving way to embarrassment. His hand flitted up as though to pull down the hat that was left at the hotel.

 

As they walked through the doors Jay gripped at his own arm with unexpected ferocity. Tim recognised the motion. The psychiatrists had always regarded it as a defensive gesture from him, though Tim had never been able to loop his fingers around the breadth of his arm so aggressively.

 

Aware of how invasive it could seem, Tim pried the man’s hand from his arm, keeping hold of it. Jay looked up at him sharply. He seemed… out of it.

 

Tim took the car-keys from his jacket and ushered him inside. They drove in silence.

 

* * *

**|xoxox|**

* * *

  

It took time for Jay to talk. He had seemed anxious to, while Tim parked behind the hotel, as if leaving the car made things irreversible.

 

But he didn’t.

 

They reached their room without a word between them. Jay slipped him back his money at the door and, when Tim finally did speak up, his voice was gruff. He pulled Jay's satchel from him and left it over a chair, ignoring the scathing look he received as he guided the man over to the bed. They sat down, not looking one another in the eye.

 

“What’s wrong.” He didn’t mean to make it sound less like a question and more like a demand, but it did.

 

Jay looked at the ceiling. His expression was bitter. “Nothing.”

 

“Nothing? This isn’t _normal,_ J—“

 

“As if you’d know fucking normal,” Jay hissed. His arms were crossed, cradling his elbows. They looked sharp to touch. “I’m fine.”

 

Tim didn’t so much as flinch. Maybe he should have—this was _Jay_. But it didn’t feel like Jay. His words hurt less when they sounded like someone else’s. 

 

“Are you?” he asked. This time the question sounded genuine. It was too quiet to sound desperate, but Jay knew him well.

 

He glanced over at him, for a moment, gaze darting away as soon as Tim returned it. He looked terribly unsure. “I…” Tim waited. “I don’t know.”

 

“Okay,” Jay’s head shot up. “That’s okay.”

 

The man seemed speechless after that, turning to stare ahead. Tim wondered what would come next. Would Jay eat that night? The problem seemed to revolve around food, at least to an extent, but the man _had_ to be hungry. Right?

 

That problem could wait. Jay’s frame was still shaking. Tim dismissed his nerves as he twisted to face him, undemanding as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. It didn’t feel like the movies— in the movies there were laughing tracks and roses, as opposed to trembling and caution— but it wasn’t the same. Some part of him wished the proximity could mean ‘I love you’, but right now it just meant ‘you’re not alone’.

 

If that was what Jay needed from him, then it was enough.

 

“Thanks,” the word was muffled in his shoulder. The room was warm but Jay was so, so cold. Tim pulled him closer. He didn’t argue.

 

Tim doesn’t remember how long they stayed that way. His memory lapses to when they tried to sleep, Jay still shivering in heavy sweatpants and a jumper. They were close, but being under the covers reinforced boundaries that Tim had been happy to ignore. Jay was slow to relax, but gradually slipped away, leaving his stress in the bed with him.

 

His thoughts at 2am were a haze, but they revolved around the man laying beside him—his bones and his bruises, his shaking and every whispered apology. It stung, to a degree, to see the sort of sheer self-disgust that Tim was so accustomed to reflected in Jay’s eyes. Though, as his mind slowed with sleeplessness, he remembered the jacket and the laughter and the way his nose wrinkled.

 

Jay shifted toward him and Tim observed each blurring detail of his face. It was cliché, but he looked so different in sleep. Peaceful, sure, but blank. Tim decided he preferred Jay awake.

 

It took hours, but he finally retired from his ideas about breakfasts and better nights by 5am. The feelings of guilt had surfaced around 3. They would last.

 

He fell asleep thinking about how much space he had in a bed for two.

  

* * *

  **|xoxox|**

* * *

 

Jay tried to convince him to ‘forget it’ that morning. The attempt was futile. Tim eyed him, brow raised, and eventually Jay realised he couldn’t win.

 

“You can’t change anything,” he almost scoffs, swiping for his camera. His attention remained solely on the tape as he padded over to his computer. Then, “why are you staring?”

 

Tim shut his eyes. Took a breath. Jay needed – _deserved_ – patience, so he held back his frustration. It proved an effort on three hours of sleep. “Is there anything that could help?”

 

He didn’t make his mother’s mistake. He didn’t ask if _he_ could help, as if he were immediately part of the equation, because that would only lead to dissatisfaction. His mother had hated how powerless he always made her feel.

 

Jay’s problems were his own. Tim would willingly shoulder them if that was what the man wanted, but he doubted it.

 

“A time machine?” Jay offered dryly. “No. Just, forget it,” he paused. Tim heard him swallow. “Please.”

 

Tim couldn’t make that kind of promise. “Well, I’m not going to forget it. You can’t just erase what happened yesterday, Jay. I’m not judging you—I _can’t_ judge you—but yeah, I’m going to worry.”

 

“Fuck off, Tim,” he retorted, but it lacked any bite. “I know you have your problems but they’re _different_ , okay?”

 

“Everyone’s shit is different. Doesn’t mean that it can’t be fixed.”

 

There was no conviction in his words, and Jay knew it. He shook his head, slow and derisive. “Maybe not,” he humoured him. “But this can’t. I can’t.”

 

“Have you tried?”

 

Jay looked unimpressed. He sat pointedly with his back to Tim.

 

“Sorry,” Tim mumbled, but Jay seemed sick of it. He remained unresponsive but began packing, and Tim got the message. Jay didn’t want to stay there another night. His motions were sluggish but he still managed to load his bag first, disappearing through the door with the car-keys in hand.

 

His jacket lay forgotten. Tim reached for it and folded it carefully. There wasn’t any room in his bag so he pulled out some jeans that were probably unsalvageable anyway and stuffed them in the paper-bin. Anything of Jay’s, especially that damned jacket, would be worth the loss.

 

Zipping the bag closed proves futile even with the added space, so he leaves it open. He locked the door and left. Jay didn't spare him a glance, even as he collapsed into his seat and dumped the bag down. If Jay saw his jacket peaking out, he didn’t say anything. His shoulders, previously stiff and guarded, drooped.

 

He looked so tired, even though he had slept so long.

 

“I’ll drive.”

 

Jay started. “What? _No_ —“ 

 

“Just let me,” then, under his breath, “please, Jay.”

 

The man looked away for a moment, scowling before shoving open the door and leaving his seat.

 

Soon, bumps in the road caused clothes to go spilling from the open bag, so Tim took the jacket out and fitted it into the glovebox. Jay remained silent.

 

It was only half an hour into the journey when his eyes drew shut. Tim wrenched the car to a sudden stop and shook his shoulders urgently, repeating his name over and over. Jay was more than pissed when he woke up, but all Tim could feel was relief.

  

* * *

  **|xoxox|**

* * *

  

“So what are you comfortable with eating?” he half-expected Jay to say ‘nothing’.

 

He didn’t. “Apples?” he considered. It sounded like a question. “Protein bars—only Hendry’s, though. Sometimes Myth, if it’s in stock. Salad but it tastes like shit.”

 

Tim couldn’t argue with that. “Sandwiches? Anything more… filling?”

 

“Not bread. Or cheese. Meat’s pretty gross too.”

 

“Okay then, uh,” he trailed off. Clearing his throat, he tried, “What about something light? Like, yoghurt or something. That’s good for you, right?”

 

Jay stared at him. “Would it make you stop bugging me about it?”

 

“For now, maybe.”

 

That seemed to satisfy him, and Tim even thought that the man was a little relieved. Perhaps it was more forgivable to eat at someone else’s will.

 

Mulling over such a thought only brought more concern, and he kept an eye on his friend— this time with enough subtlety to avoid another accusation of ‘staring’. Regardless, Jay never returned the gaze, lost in grey scenery through the window.

  

* * *

  **|xoxox|**

* * *

 

 With the exception of Tim’s insistence that Jay ate, they don’t talk about the problem for weeks. Tim doesn’t want to say it, but he loathes how they had fallen back to square one. Jay is on edge around him, opening protein bars with too much sound and then throwing them away once Tim leaves the room. He found them yesterday, wrapped in tissues and wedged along the side pockets of his bag. Jay clearly planned to ‘dispose’ of them later.

 

Things seem more complicated now, and Tim isn’t sure how to address what he can’t exactly call a lie. Sure, Jay never states that he’s eating like it’s some sort of Public Service announcement, but it seems fairly obvious to Tim that it’s the message he’s trying to get across. And it’s just not true.

 

He doesn’t want to believe it, but Jay is looking thinner.

 

It’s not fair that today, even knowing all this, he’s still not prepared for the first time that Jay faints.

 

He runs on instinct. Scooping Jay up with too much ease, he races faster than he would from the Operator. The man is a dead weightlessness in his arms as he fumbles with the door, thrusting it open with too much force. He lays Jay on the bed, thoughts racing. He can’t call an ambulance. _Should_ he call an ambulance? He takes Jay’s cold hand in his before thinking again, pulling back and diving for his laptop.

 

‘what to do if an anorexic faints’ offers no substantial advice, so he treats Jay as if he’s any other person, and searches ‘what to do if someone faints’. He speed-reads the instructions like it’s his life that’s depending on it.

 

He's already placed Jay on his back, so he grabs his bag and rests it under the man’s feet. His breathing seems alright and he doesn’t seem to be choking, so Tim skips to ‘step 3’ and in under any other circumstances it would be embarrassing – opening Jay’s shirt and loosening his belt – but he doesn’t think twice about it now.

 

There’s no step 4 and Tim steps back, breathing hard, and stands over the bed. Jay lays still. He looks lifeless, too lifeless, and Tim takes another step back. Stumbling, he collapses against the wall. His gaze doesn’t leave the bed.

 

This only reinforces that _fuck_ does he prefer Jay awake.

  

* * *

  **|xoxox|**

* * *

  

If he was unprepared for Jay fainting, what comes next is unimaginable. What must be hours pass and Tim wonders if the man will ever wake up. His cheeks are wet, and he can’t remember why.

 

But, by some miracle, Jay’s eyes open. He blinks almost dopily, confused in every sense of the world. The first thing he sees is the ceiling. The second is Tim, lurching toward him.

 

Tim knows he probably looks raving mad. He’s ran his fingers through his hair in messy tufts, and his eyes are wide and anxious. His lip might be trembling. His hands certainly are as they reach out. He hesitates. Jay watches him. He pulls himself up to sit, and draws his legs into his chest. His hands are wrung. There’s shame in his every movement.

 

It’s too much. In this moment, he can’t show restraint, or caution, or patience. It’s comes without warning and Jay makes an ‘oomph’ of surprise as Tim pulls the smaller body against his. The embrace is probably too tight, considering Jay has only just regained conscience, but Tim can’t _think_.

 

“Fuck you,” he tells him, pulling back. He hates that he doesn’t sound angry, but desperate. “You can’t do that. You _can’t_. Do you ever think about what you’re doing?“

 

 “Why does it even matter to you?” Jay can’t seem to focus on his face. “I don’t understand—“

 

There are some things that pills can’t regulate. Tim snaps.

 

“There’s nothing _to_ understand! I fucking love you!”

 

Jay’s mouth snaps shut. His expression is frozen. The only reaction he betrays is a sharp inhalation of breath. For once, he doesn’t look away.

 

“Oh,” he says gradually.

 

Tim is the one to drop his gaze. His sense of bravado slips away, and he doesn’t respond for a moment. “Yeah,” he sounds bitter. “ _Oh._ ”

 

He starts to move away and is startled as Jay fumbles for his hand. His stare is pleading. “What do you mean by that—“ the words are garbled. “Just—please, what do you mean?”

 

“I love you.”

 

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs, gaze darting. “How can you—“

 

 And then, even though Jay doesn’t, Tim understands. He takes a deep breath, “I understand how you feel, too well really, but it's really goddamn easy to love you, Jay. Don’t you dare think otherwise.”

 

“But—you’re _fine_ ,” Jay says. His voice becomes insistent, “You’re goddamn gorgeous! How do you…”

 

It’s not the time for his own insecurities, and for once Tim can dismiss them with ease.

 

“Same way you do, I guess,” and this isn’t the way he imagined his confession going. “I mean, you’re perfect. Maybe too skinny. Definitely too skinny. But otherwise,” he shrugs awkwardly.

 

Humiliation stains Jay’s cheeks and he looks down. “It’s not the same,” he argues weakly.

 

Tim’s not sure how long it will take to convince him, so he just moves to sit beside the man. He leans back, exhaling.

 

Jay’s eyes follow.

 

“I do love you,” Tim repeats. He feels exhausted but he needs Jay to understand that much. “I have for a while. Been too scared to tell you.”

 

Jay rests his head on Tim’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. Tim knows he’s doubting everything he’s told him, but he doesn’t expect any more.

 

They sit in silence. Jay seems lost in thought. Tim doesn’t mind—they have time.

 

“You should eat,” he says suddenly. “You don’t want to faint again.”

 

Jay hums. “I don’t,’ he agrees, and it’s not a promise but it’s _something_. He smiles then. “Do you want to go out for dinner?”

 

Tim turns, his chin brushing against Jay’s head, and shifts to examine him. The smile is rather shaky and he immediately understands that Jay will order a salad at most, but it means he’s trying. Tim returns the smile with everything he’s got. “I’ll pay.”

 

Jay scoffs, laughing slightly. It’s that quiet sound that confirms it for Tim—

 

Yeah. This will be their night.

 

* * *

  **|xoxox|**

* * *

 

_Jay struggles with his salad but Tim doesn’t mind. He keeps talking while they eat, distracting the man until the meal becomes secondary. He pays the bill and it’s late. They should go back to the motel— it’s not a long drive, but Jay looks tired._

_Tim suggests they sleep on the roadside again. It might be a joke._

_They do._

_Conditions aren't perfect but they have some blankets in the trunk, so Tim lays them out in a patch of grass off the highway. The cold is biting so he goes back to glovebox and takes out Jay’s jacket._

_“Fuck,” Jay says when Tim returns with it. He pulls it on, shaking his head like he’s trying not to laugh._

 

 _And Tim remembers then a thought from long before. That, 'for Jay, there will always the quiet suspicion that he knows more than he claims.' He thinks it's true. He understands, just by the fondness in Jay's expression, that the man loves Tim back._ _He won't say it yet, but at least Tim knows._

 

_Jay's smile is the only confession he needs._


End file.
